Vigil
by Trust No One
Summary: After Cleitus’ death, Alexander’s generals are faced with a terrible decision.


Title: Vigil

Author: Trust No One

Rating: PG

Word count: 2762

Summary: After Cleitus' death, Alexander's generals are faced with a terrible decision.

Beta by: twhitesakura

Disclaimer: They belong to history.

The frigid wind ripped inside the confines of the stone room when Perdiccas walked in. It burst across the table, swirling the covering forcefully and knocked down a goblet of wine. The dark liquid seeped into the yellow cloth and the men present stared at it as if it was the worst of omens.

'Looks like a storm is coming,' the latecomer said tentatively to excuse himself for his tardiness. He looked almost intimidated by the irate looks of the other generals gathered in the room.

'The storm's already here, if you ask me,' Seleucus commented darkly. Some of the others nodded, avoiding each other's eyes.

Perdiccas quickly found a chair and sat down, for once glad to lose himself amongst the other generals. Of the men present, some shifted uncomfortably in their seats, others paced around the confined space like captive jackals. All of them still wore the clothes they had on at the previous night's feast. The inadequate lodgings were as impromptu as the council that had been summoned before the break of dawn. From the haggard, grim-set faces of the men, the dawning of a new day could not be further from their thoughts. The single light in the room came from a small brazier placed in the middle of the table. It cast a spectral, guttering light on Ptolemy's face and kept his eyes in shadow as he broke the silence.

'Who are we still waiting for?'

'Hephaistion. He's trying to talk some sense into Alexander.'

'He won't…'

The words remained hanging when the door burst open and Hephaistion strode in, his purposeful gait belying the distress in his countenance. He made no excuse for being late.

'How is he?' Perdiccas asked. He looked just as afraid of the answer as the others.

Hephaistion sighed then shook his head. A profound exhaustion, of a man charged with attaining the impossible, marred his eyes and the lines and shadows in his face made him appear older than he was.

'Alexander ordered be left alone. No one is to enter his quarters.'

At once a clamor of accusatory voices ascended, bouncing off the low ceilings and narrow walls and drowning Hephaistion's voice.

'What? You left him alone?'

'What if he tries to harm himself again?'

'Are you mad, Hephaistion?'

The usual patience Hephaistion displayed was clearly tried to the limit as the man pressed his lips together in a supreme effort to control himself.

'Is someone at least watching him?' Leonnatus managed to wedge in a question after the din had abated somewhat.

Hephaistion nodded. 'The guards and Bagoas are keeping an eye on him – without his knowledge, of course. Zeus only knows what he would do if he knew we were secretly watching him.'

'The Persian slut? You entrusted Alexander's life to the Persian slut!' the chorus of disapproval rose again.

'Can you do better than that?' Hephaistion challenged no one in particular and all of them at once. His eyes flickered once, cold and unforgiving, in the pallid light. None answered. Hephaistion folded his arms on his chest and remained standing next to the door, shaking his head in refusal of the chair that Ptolemy pushed his way.

For once, Alexander's raucous generals were at a loss for words. Their wine, cut three parts with water, sat full and untouched in goblets on the table as the valor of Macedon glanced from one to the other expectantly, waiting for someone to start talking. When no one did, silence lingered in the air thick as mud for a long moment before Ptolemy finally spoke.

'We cannot waste anymore time. Let us do what we are here to do.'

'And what is that exactly?' Eumenes asked from where he stood against a wall across the room, in a harsher tone than necessary. All eyes turned to the King's secretary who eyed the younger men as he would a pack of rabid dogs.

'Decide, Eumenes,' Hephaistion hissed. 'Decide what to do about…,' he paused, gritting his jaws and searching for the right words and not finding them, '… about this.'

Eumenes opened his mouth to retort with venom specially primed for Hephaistion but Leonnatus, who stood next to Eumenes, wrapped his huge fist around the Secretary's lower arm and squeezed a tad stronger than necessary.

Eumenes yelped and wrenched his arm free. 'This is no time for petty rivalries, you idiot,' he snapped.

'We know that,' Leonnatus barked, 'that's why we want to hear what you propose we do.'

No one raised their voice in defense of Alexander's secretary. In spite of being shrewd, or maybe because of it, Eumenes was generally disliked by the others.

'I'll tell you once I've listened to what all of you have to say,' Eumenes declared, his composure returning. He received several gloomy looks from the younger men. Unpopular he might have been with the younger generals but none of them could boast to having found flaws in the man's logic yet.

Before the silence once again bore down on them, Ptolemy resumed. His tone, though not overly forceful, succeeded in capturing their attention. 'Cleitus has not been dead half a day and Alexander has shut himself away from the world. He has shunned all of us from his side and in his state of mind, he might even try to harm himself again.' Even if the facts were known to everyone present, he paused a moment to let the words sink in. 'The quicker we decide what to do, the better for Alexander. How do we deal with this, men?'

'Alexander was drunk, his mind taken completely by the madness of Dyonisos,' Perdiccas offered almost timidly. Logical and cool-headed in any crisis on the battlefield, Perdiccas looked like he could not bring the pieces of himself to think clearly at the meeting. From the tired nods and shifty looks of the others, it was clear that a hopeless mood prevailed. 'Surely all of you remember the Dyonisian revelries back home - worse things have happened. Every one of you must have witnessed what they do to one's mind.'

'That's too convenient an excuse and we all know it,' Ptolemy countered.

'Convenient or not, we were all there. We saw what happened, we heard Cleitus slander and belittle Alexander,' Hephaistion interjected. His face was as gray and anxious as that of every other man present.

'I'm sure that suits you just fine, Hephaistion,' Eumenes blistered, 'that leaves you in sole command of the Companions now.'

'Shut up, Eumenes!' several voices snapped at once.

Hephaistion shot the secretary a murderous look, but kept his voice calm as he resumed, refusing to dignify Eumenes' words with an answer. 'Even so, to say that Dyonisos overcame Alexander's mind would bring him more shame than if he had to answer for his deed before the assembly.'

Several of the generals nodded silently, but no one voiced their approval. Preserving Alexander's honour and dealing with the murder of Cleitus seemed to be tugging too much at their already tested limits.

'We understand that you want to protect Alexander, Hephaistion,' Ptolemy said in a conciliatory tone. 'But we cannot allow our personal feelings to interfere.'

Hephaistion looked at Ptolemy as if he were seeing him for the first time. Rage registered in his countenance and he did not bother to hide it.

'And _you_ don't want to protect Alexander? He's your king – your friend!' He had almost blurted out '_Your half brother_', but had suppressed it at the last moment. It was neither the time nor the place, to throw the knowledge in Ptolemy' face, especially in front of the others. The man had spoken nothing but the truth and he could not be blamed for it. 'You owe him your allegiance – no matter what! He made a mistake….'

'Hephaistion,' had it been at a less crucial moment, Ptolemy's tone would have been almost petulant, but now it sounded patient and just as tired as everyone else's, 'this isn't about anyone's loyalty. Alexander hasn't doubted the faithfulness of any of the men who stand here. The question is – what do we do about Cleitus? What are we going to tell the men?'

'What _do_ you want to do about it?' Hephaistion demanded. His lips were dry and white and his eyes burned, making him appear like a gentler version of a flesh-eating Gorgon. 'Are you planning on bringing up charges against your King by the laws of Macedon?' He glanced around incredulously, at the worn and near-frightened faces of the bravest men he knew. Most averted their eyes in shame.

Ptolemy spoke carefully, and the words seemed to be forced out of his mouth with great effort. 'We can't simply let it go, Hephaistion. Surely you realize that. Even if we wanted to, out of love and devotion for our king, the law is greater than us.'

'The law can put us in a very precarious situation, Ptolemy,' Peukestas spoke for the first time, his soft-spoken manner outweighed by the truth of his words. 'How would the Macedonian assembly vote against their beloved king? Have you thought about what this could do to the spirits of the men?'

'Let's not forget one thing: the Black spoke his mind to the King, no matter how drunk he was,' Eumenes left the shadows and walked towards the table, pounding the surface with his palms. 'Where are we headed if a free Macedonian cannot speak his mind in front of the King anymore? We might as well curl our hair and beards and start wearing trousers like these barbarians! It is because of this that we have to act now.'

'That is rubbish and you know it,' Seleucus spat at Eumenes. 'Cleitus had it coming, he's been griping about protocol and Alexander's treatment of the Persians for ages. If he felt like he had to have it out with Alexander during a banquet, he should have expected the consequences.'

'No one, least of all Alexander, expected or wished for this outcome,' Leonnatus reminded.

'But the fact remains, Alexander _did_ break the law,' Ptolemy said gently, as if breaking terrible news to a gathering of obstinate children. 'He killed a man without trial and he could stand accused of murder. More than that, the man was his friend and general, a man who saved his life.'

He stated the facts without malice or prejudice. Yet each word dealt a death-like blow on the shoulders of the Macedonian High Command, already weighed down with a decision it had never hoped to be forced to make.

'The fact remains, Ptolemy,' Hephaistion shot back, 'that we are in barely known territory. The men are confused and enraged. Discord amongst our highest ranks will do nothing more than to serve our enemies with proof that we are weakening from the inside. Our hosts have already seen the worst of us – what about when word gets out to the other satrapies?'

'Hephaistion is right,' Peukestas declared, 'we cannot afford to be leaderless or seen as such in this place. News of discord and misfortune travels fast. They'll tear us apart.'

'We still have the strongest army there ever was,' Perdiccas boasted. 'Let them try.'

'You're wrong here, and you're inviting trouble,' Ptolemy countered, 'without Alexander's lead, the army will fall into disarray, one way or another. It will happen. You might all be strong leaders, but that is not enough. Crateros' army will never get here in time to reinforce our position should something happen. Can't you see how we're all bickering here like old women and can't agree on anything? What more would the conquered territories need than a whiff of a rumour to start rebelling behind us?'

Perdiccas gritted his teeth and reached for his drink, drawing it to his lips with the clear intention to down it. Recent memory flashed in his pale eyes and he swallowed dryly, replacing the drink on the table gingerly as the others watched, the same black recollection mirrored in their widened eyes. Perdiccas laughed, a tart and hollow sound: cold and calculating they might be when it came to battles, but this was the life of their King and their own lives that were hanging in a very precarious balance. No amount of strategizing could have prepared them for the enormity of this.

'Well maybe this is a sign from the gods that we've gone far enough and it's time to go back home,' Perdiccas groused, attracting curious glances from the others. 'These lands are bewitched; none of us are ourselves anymore.'

'We're not going anywhere until we decide how to handle this,' Eumenes proclaimed. 'And since all of you hotheaded generals and battle commanders are talking yourselves in and out of circles and cannot come up with a plan, here's what I propose.'

Several mouths that opened to cry out in protest clamped shut as if on cue and all eyes turned to the king's secretary, the only one who seemed visibly unaffected by the crisis. His voice was calm and mellifluous compared to the others' faltering utterances.

'We will put Cleitus on trial for high treason – for slandering our King and thus inciting to mutiny. The evidence speaks for itself: recent clashes over protocol with Alexander and various others who, if the need arises, will testify accordingly,' here Eumenes gave Hephaistion a pointed look which was grudgingly returned. 'All this culminated into last night's event.

'Once the assembly has voted – and I have no doubt as to what that vote will be – Alexander will be cleared of all blame. It will not matter when the punishment was meted out. Our laws have been upheld and this will serve as an example for all who dare transgress. Who will vote for this course of action?'

His brief speech finished, Eumenes glanced around at the score of generals. No one could tell from his flat, expressionless face if he was glad that he had at last taught the army firebrands a lesson in levelheaded thinking and immediate reaction. As they pondered the secretary's offer, their faces looked aged by decades, some filled with animosity, some with disgust, and yet no one uttered a word in opposition. After a long moment of silence, Ptolemy spoke.

'It is irregular, but not impossible. I vote for it.'

'So do I.'

'And I.'

One by one, they gave their assent. When his turn came, Hephaistion merely nodded, his dread mirrored plainly in his features.

'I believe that is it then,' Ptolemy stood up, glancing around at the others, silently demanding that no more questions be asked. 'It is time to mourn for Cleitus the Black, who, until last night, served Alexander well and was one of the bravest commanders of the Macedonian army. May his passage to Hades be an easy one.'

'To the Black!' the others chanted, following Ptolemy's cue. They proceeded to tip their wine goblets and spilled several drops of their wine onto the ground. Their voices rose in unison. 'To the gods!'

The meeting concluded and the generals filed out of the room under the cloud-covered morning sky, their gait lighter and their souls relieved of a terrible decision. Eumenes fell behind in step with Perdiccas. He leaned closer to the general, whispering behind his hand, 'One has to wonder, with Alexander going the way he is, first with Philotas and Parmenion and now Cleitus - when is the next one of us going to meet the same fate?'

Perdiccas stared at the secretary out of half-lidded, expressionless eyes for a long moment but did not reply until the last man had exited the council room.

'It sounds like that man should be you, Eumenes. Speaking like that, like your faith in Alexander has turned to doubt.'

'Oh, I'm not doubting him,' Eumenes defended. 'On the contrary, I'm giving him credit. He roots out the sore thumbs in his army the way a stern father disciplines his problem children: once and for all.'

'So why say something like this?' Perdiccas sounded curious, though no muscle twitched on his face.

'Because, as much as I want to believe that things stay unchanged, a time might come when we will have to shift our allegiances. I plan ahead, nothing more. You can understand that.'

Perdiccas shrugged and remained silent, but Eumenes did not need Perdiccas' assent to know that he had understood. The two were the last to leave the room. Behind them, the icy wind caught hold of the guttering flame and turned it to black smoke in no time at all.

End


End file.
